


Into the Light

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-His Last Vow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock became lovers after the pool. It would take much longer for them to speak it aloud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Light

They'd become lovers after the pool. The Yard let them go in the wee hours of the morning, and Sherlock had taken John home. They climbed up to the flat and Sherlock wordlessly stripped him to check for wounds. John had turned and touched his cheek and as their eyes met they could no longer deny this. They fell into each other’s arms right there on the sofa, a nearly silent intercourse, parting as soon as it was done.

 But those times were rare. Their lovemaking only happened in the dark and small hours when even the bravest man’s heart might fail. They never spoke as they sought comfort in each other’s bodies. When it was over they went to their own rooms. And to the outside world they gave their excuses and lies: "I'm not gay." "It's the Work that's important."

 And then Sherlock had died.

 John mourned deeply and for a very long time. In his head rang bitter recriminations that he had never spoken the words aloud. Or even in his own heart. He’d known his feelings for Sherlock. So he buried himself in work and eventually, when Mary came into his life, in her. A smiling face for the world, though part of his heart had surely died.

 When Sherlock suddenly reappeared, of course John was angry. But before long he found himself back in the detective’s orbit. He told himself he loved Mary, he was going to marry her. He shaved the mustache without much thought.

 When he woke in the fire his only thought was Sherlock. For a terrifying moment he thought he really would die. But then Sherlock saved him like he’d known he would. But John was disoriented and perhaps he’d only imagined the look on the detective’s face. Before he could speak the mask came down and the ambulance arrived and the moment slipped away.

 Facing him in the train car John came close to saying how he felt. But even here, at possibly the last moment, he couldn’t say it, couldn’t take Sherlock in his arms in the light, though he could see the tears in Sherlock’s eyes. They said their words and let the moment pass.

 The stag night was a blur. He knew he’d been close, so very close to climbing into Sherlock’s lap and saying the words he kept locked away. But that moment too had gone by and he pretended not to remember the look in his eyes.

 At the wedding, John heard Sherlock’s words and saw their meaning. But he'd made a promise to Mary and no matter how much his heart ached, well he'd made no such promise to the detective.

 When Sherlock was shot, John was angry. He'd always carried a deep anger, truth be told. Something broken and damaged deep inside of him. He clamped it down and did what he needed to while he silently prayed. _Please, God, let him live._

When he faced Mary in the empty house, saw what she had done, what she was willing to do, that anger nearly took control. He seethed as now,  _now_ Sherlock told him the truth. John kicked a chair instead of punching a hole through the wall. Or her. Or him.  _Always my fault_ . So he sat her down. A client, that was all she was now. Perhaps all she had ever been. As the medics took Sherlock away he glared at his wife. She was as silent as he’d ever been.

 By the time Sherlock returned to Baker Street, John had moved back in. They went on as if nothing had happened, as if they were still just the friends they’d always been. They planned on how to deal with Mary and John felt little remorse. But they did not come together. Even as John lay awake in the darkness, it seemed too far to creep down the stairs, too difficult to take Sherlock in his arms again. Because he knew that if he lay with him again, the words and the secrets would tumble out and he’d be unable to stop them. He couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t. If nothing else, he was still legally wed. More lies he told himself to ease the ache.

 John had always been a terrible liar.

 So he practiced his speech to Mary. When he told her the words, he tried not to notice how very pregnant she was. Sherlock had assured him the child wasn’t his, but there was some doubt in the back of his head. She seemed to accept his forgiveness as truth. They embraced, but his face fell when she couldn’t see. He had to do this though, for both their sakes. His and Sherlock’s.

 Appledore. John watched the video of Sherlock dragging him out of the fire. There was no denying now the very depth of Sherlock’s devotion. His heart ached again, but he’d grown used to the feeling so he said nothing. Still, Sherlock actually shooting the man was a shock. As the detective turned to him John wondered if this was another action taking them farther away from each other.

 They barely saw each other the next few weeks. John did what he must with Mary and wondered what would become of their plans now. His silences grew deeper and longer, but she said nothing, though of course she must have seen it.

 Finally they were out on a tarmac. John watched Sherlock and he knew, could tell by the way he stood, that he wasn’t expecting to come back. They were out of time. Still as Sherlock came to him and spoke he could see the words on the tip of his tongue, the years-held secret between them. So John looked away, knowing Sherlock would swallow them and make a joke and they could pretend this wasn’t forever. John shook his hand and stood at attention as the only one he’d ever really cared for got on the plane. He might as well be watching him die again.

  _I love him._ He could say it now, in his heart. Because it was over. His shoulders slumped as he got in the car, but that was the only outward show of emotion he’d allow. Mary watched him a moment, then looked out the window.

 Nine minutes later, the car was turning around. John practically leapt out of it as the plane landed. He never looked back at Mary. Sherlock came down the stairs looking utterly shaken. John could see how red his eyes were. Even more so than in the train car. But then, this time there was no escape, no ploy, no clever plan to live another day. As Sherlock reached the bottom, he raised his head and looked at John. John offered his hand.

 Sherlock took it and this time there was no handshake. They simply stood, two men in the midday sun, looking into each other’s eyes. John was dimly aware Mycroft was nearby, giving them their moment. He’d sent Mary on alone. And she knew he wouldn’t come home with her. John was tired. Tired of lying. Tired of hiding. Tired of not having the one thing he needed above all else.

 So John, still holding Sherlock’s hand, pulled him closer. He saw the detective’s eyes go wide a moment before he was pulled down for a kiss. Then he was sagging into John’s arms, a tiny sob escaping from him as he kissed John back.

 Mycroft coughed behind him and they finally broke apart. John cupped his cheek and wiped his tears with his  thumb. “I love you, Sherlock. I always have.”

 Sherlock was struck dumb, searching John’s eyes as if doubting the proof before him. Finally he leaned in and kissed John gently before putting his mouth by his ear. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to type_40_consulting_detective, aconissa and guixonlover87.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
